


What Goes Around

by Blackpenny



Series: The Other Side of Project Faust [3]
Category: Blake et Mortimer | Blake and Mortimer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 04:04:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19287736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackpenny/pseuds/Blackpenny
Summary: This is a reaction to Project Faust, part of the Blake and Mortimer Universe. The first few chapters chiefly concern original characters, although "Ivan Ostrovsky" is pretty obviously a pseudonym to those familiar with the graphic novels. The plot bunny came when I read about people using natural disasters to commit of cover up crime. I find that the more my head canon divides and multiplies, the more it stands on its own. Thanks to darkrogue1 for her encouragement and assistance.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darkrogue1](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=darkrogue1), [latin_cat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/latin_cat/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The lost miracle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11256996) by [darkrogue1 (Lily_Haydee_Lohdisse)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lily_Haydee_Lohdisse/pseuds/darkrogue1). 



It is foolish to believe something unlikely without firm evidence. It is foolish not to believe something unlikely when the evidence is plain and convincing. With these two precepts in mind, Dr. Hiroki Ishikawa is intrigued, but not entirely convinced when the universe starts speaking to him.

It starts small. One day on his commute to work Hiroki sees three tiny men, well under five feet tall, within five minutes of each other. He doesn’t think much of this. They could all be seeking treatment at the many medical facilities near the Kobe hospital, and coincidence is a real thing. He mentions it to Dr. Tanaka – Risa – only to make conversation. She points out that their own patients are much more interesting than any number of tiny people. 

Hiroki disagrees, but doesn’t argue the point. To him the most interesting thing about his patients is what’s happening. If you asked him their very names, he’d have to think about it. As guinea pigs, the three are fascinating; as people? Not so much. The longest-standing patient walked into the clinic a frail, wrinkled bundle of skin and bones, a husk of a person. In just over two months, Mrs. Abe has gained six inches and lost fifty years. She’ll be discharged in another week or two, as soon as she’s stabilized at age twenty-five; funny how everyone picks that age. Personally, Hiroki would choose younger. He’d like to redo high school and university knowing what he knows now. 

The saddest patient is a bent-over South African gentleman riddled with incurable lung cancer. He is apparently very important back home for rather obscure reasons, something to do with Mandela, but behind the scenes. As near as Dr. Ishikawa can tell he wants to be regenerated so he can back to work. Admirable, thinks Hiroki, but what could be duller? Watching this grey, wheezing wraith of a man gain hair, flesh, and handsome features is as awe-inspiring as observing a nebula.

Patient three is a bit different in that he is not actively falling apart. The Russian is a spring chicken of seventy-five and his health is good for his age. He could last another twenty years without intervention, but has chosen to risk death with this treatment. He claims to be fascinated with the process itself, the actual science. Mind you, like everyone else, he’s chosen age twenty-five. Dr. Tanaka is pretty sure he’s given a fortune in funding to the project.

So far, the Russian has only dropped about five years. He’s not only the youngest of the patients, but the most recent. Professor Sato himself came up with the idea of staggering the participants by stages. It makes the procedures more complicated for the lab staff, but it’s good for patient morale. The initial surgery needed to implant the necessary shunts and drainage tubes is rather ghastly and the removal procedure that concludes phase one is worse. The treatments themselves are unpleasant and painful, and patients need at least a day to recover, sometimes more. When a rejuvenation patient is enduring the worst of this long process it helps to see someone further ahead, visibly younger and healthier. 

Although the Sato lab is primarily concerned with research, they do their best to make the patients comfortable. How else could they retain subjects for the long and arduous treatments? There are private sleeping cubicles and a therapy pool on premises. Professional masseurs and physical therapists are on constant call. There is always a nurse on duty in case the patients need pushed fluids or pain meds, which they very often do. Even with all this, the ultimate incentive to stay in the program is prospect of renewed youth.

Dr. Ishikawa doesn’t pay much attention to the palliative side of the treatment. He’s entirely concerned with results. He spends ten to twelve hours at work during the week and often stops by for a few hours on the weekend. He goes to the cinema on Saturday night and goes swimming every Sunday. It’s a remarkably busy and disciplined life until the omens start.

The Saturday after the three tiny men, Hiroki sees five women walking poodles over the course of the day. Five poodles in five different colours: black, white chocolate, champagne, and grey. He doesn’t make much of it because he understands chance and poodles might be fashionable for all he knows. That night he dreams of a geyser and his sink develops a serious leak. The noise keeps him awake, which isn’t great because Hiroki is a light sleeper at the best of times and work pressure has made it worse.

As tired as he is Monday morning, Hiroki is off to the lab bright and early. He’s left a sizeable “tip” with the apartment manager and hopes to tire himself out enough at work to sleep all thought the night. It’s a bright, cold morning, crisp and fresh. He makes the last part of his commute rapidly on foot. He notices: four women in orange coats; three men holding Christian pamphlets; six spotted pigeons; eight broken tree branches. He hears an odd noise and looks up. A flock of wild geese flies overhead and as he watches, their V-formation turns into an H, then back to a V. H for Hiroki, he thinks.

The Sato clinic is empty except for two patients and a single nurse. Both Mrs. Abe and Mr. Nkomo chose to sleep over last night, after particularly grueling sessions in the pods. As he brews a batch of double-strength coffee, Hiroki listens absently as the nurse takes their vitals and checks Mr. Nkomo’s implant sites. Mrs. Abe is fussing with her hair, which has come in thick, blue-black, and gleaming, but is still very short. “It was down to my waist when I was a girl,” she says. He is shocked to see a note of appraisal in her expression as she chats with Nkomo. Not too long ago she looked like something exhumed. Mr. Nkomo does not flirt back. Either he is entirely caught up in his work, or Mrs. Abe is not his type. Nkomo’s physical age is about 50 now. He skin has lost its sickly grey; he stands erect, and his voice is smooth and pleasant. 

Both patients leave the clinic as soon as they feel up to it. Abe is involved in some kind of business that requires her urgent attention. Nkomo has taken to walking in the park visiting local temples, but he also has some undisclosed political business to attend to. Dr. Ishikawa bows to the patients as they leave. He hopes that Mr. Nkomo stays far away from smokers. He hopes that Mrs. Abe doesn’t get herself killed before the experiment is finished. 

When he goes out to buy lunch, Hiroki sees a young man walking down the street with a dozen roses in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. Five minutes later he spots a little boy blowing bubbles out of a plastic “champagne” bottle full of soap. That afternoon Mrs. Abe has a case of champagne delivered to the lab in preparation for her discharge. None of this surprises Hiroki, who realizes that, for whatever reason, he has a special gift for seeing patterns. 

Having got his attention, the universe gets to the point. Now that Hiroki has opened his inner eye he understands things much more quickly. One morning, after a few hours of restless sleep he wakes with his heart pounding and jots down notes. He had dreamt of a car, and oversized red car, driving along a road of fire/burning tar/lake of fire (not clear) and as he drove he became smaller and the wheels flew off the car one by one. Hiroki keeps the sheet of paper in his pocket knowing that these vivid dreams always herald more messages.

Although he’s been averaging three hours a sleep a night, Hiroki is hyper alert, especially on his way to work. This is usually when the omens start. On the brief train ride he spots a young mother with a little girl of about four. The child holds a red, toy tape recorder and is playing a song. Even with the headphones he can hear the lyrics: The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round. The mother catches him watching and smiles, shyly. “She is learning English.” Hiroki bows at the pair before leaving. They don’t know he is thanking them for the signal, of course.

During the walk he sees four girls twirling their umbrellas in the rain. Of course, each umbrella has at least some red on it, so Hiroki is not quite clear where this is going. Just before entering the hospital it becomes clear. To someone of lesser perception the answer is just a young man in a black starter business suit with a red bicycle. The bike is resting on the handlebars with the back tire in the air. The young man is tightening the wheel. He gives it a spin, checking to make sure it’s straight. Hiroki stands transfixed.

“Have to keep it in order,” the young man says, flipping the bike down and speeding off. “You have to keep it in order,” Hiroki whispers to himself.

Wheels are everywhere. Systems are everywhere. You have to keep it in order. Hiroki notices, for the first time, that the pods are cooled by fans that must spin and spin to keep them in order. In fact, all the machinery is rich with wheels and gears and cycles. The world spins and revolves, the seasons change in a predictable cycle, water comes from the air to the earth to the air again. Now that he sees the very nature of the universe, Hiroki finds he doesn’t need much sleep or food. He gets by on strong coffee and whatever he can find in the lab. He is no less devoted to his work, of course. If anything he is more devoted because he knows the universe chose him both for who he is and what he does

***

“Listen carefully today.”

The voice is perfectly clear; so clear, in fact, that Hiroki looks up in surprise, wondering if perhaps Professor Sato has returned. Dr. Tanaka notices.

“Did you hear something, Dr. Ishikawa?”

“Yes. Probably just something in the hall.”

Dr. Tanaka miles and goes back to work, but he notices her noticing him. She knows something is going on. Hiroki wonders if he looks different now that the universe is speaking to him. He checks his imagine in the bathroom mirror. He looks pretty much the same. He’s lost weight, of course, and he needs a haircut. His eyes look a little hollow but they’re very bright. He should probably send his clothes out to be professionally laundered and ironed as they’re looking a bit loose and shabby. None of this seems particularly important in the grand scheme of things, which is all that concerns him now.

Today Mrs. Abe is leaving. She’s stabilized at age twenty-five, perhaps a year or two younger, and her health is vibrant. This makes sense as she made it to nearly a century the first time around. Her great-grandsons, who could not be more obvious Yakuza thugs, have come to pick her up. A silent man of business and a personal stylist accompany them. Mrs. Abe emerges perfectly made up in a black Chanel suit with a pearl belt. Her hair has been cut into a sharp, asymmetrical pixie. As she steps through the door, one grandson opens a bottle of champagne while a nurse hands out glasses. Everyone has turned up to see what is unquestionably a miracle. Even the cynical Ostrovsky has come to offer his congratulations. Even shy Mr. Nkomo accepts a glass of champagne with a smile.

“To second chances,” Mrs. Abe proposes. They all drink. “I would have ordered cigars, but it didn’t seem fitting”

“Thank you,” says Mr. Nkomo. I am done with such things forever.”

“Really?” asks Ostrovsky. “Even when you know there are second chances?”

“Nobody who had experienced cancer would even suggest a thing,” Nkomo says, very seriously. 

“Is that what you plan to do, Ivan? Relive all your past dissipations?” Mrs. Abe’s tone makes her grandson shift his feet uncomfortably. “How I would like to see that!”

“Your view of my youth is very flattering, madam,” Ostrovsky responds. He’s flirting back, shamelessly, although Abe is factually old enough to be his mother and he is apparently old enough to be her father, although not by much.

“My point is simply that habits are seductive and seductive experiences build habits. We all know better this time around, but will we benefit from our experience? It would be interesting to see what we are up to in ten years time.”

When the bottle of champagne is finished, Mrs. Abe indicates that the rest of the case is for “future successes.” She passes a card to Ostrovsky and shakes Mr. Nkomo’s hand. “I would stay, ladies and gentlemen, but I have much to do. There is a world waiting for me.”

When she is gone, Hiroki find himself wondering how the long-gone Mr. Abe met his end and what this beautiful human monster will do with her new future.

When Hiroki snaps out of his reverie he sees that the Russian is watching him.

“You seem struck by the idea, Dr. Ishikawa. Perhaps you are afraid of what you are unleashing upon the world?” Hiroki cannot tell if his tone is teasing or not. 

“Not at all, Mr. Ostrovsky,” Hiroki answers stiffly. “I was just wondering if it would be possible to repeat the whole procedure. There could be complications.”

“An area of inquiry for you, then.” The Russian takes a black marker from the table and selects two bottles of champagne from Mrs. Abe’s case. He writes “Nkomo” on one and “Ostrovsky” on the other. Nkomo chuckles gently and heads off for the preparation chamber. Ostrovsky is also due for a treatment, but he holds back. 

“Dr. Ishikawa,” he begins, “I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. You too, of course, Dr. Nakana. You are both gifted scientists with brilliant futures ahead of you.”

The young people exchange glances. Ostrovsky is not usually one to talk about, well, anything beyond pleasantries and the project. 

“I cannot say I have accumulated a lot of wisdom in my seventy-five years, but this seems an appropriate time to pass this one.” He looks at Hiroki. “The first is not to confuse your work with your whole life. I did that, and it was a mistake.” He turns to Risa. “The second is to develop allies and ensure you have a mutual relationship. Look after each other. There are alliances that go beyond friendship, beyond family. Cultivate them. Look after each other.” He squeezes Hiroki’s shoulder and leaves the room. 

Hiroki is puzzled. Clearly this is a sign from the universe, but it’s a strange one. He’ll have to ponder this at leisure.

“Dr. Ishikawa? Dr. Ishikawa? Hiroki?” Hiroki snaps to attention. He smiles at his colleague. How long has she been calling him?“

It’s time.” Dr. Nakana looks him in the eye for the barest moment, then leads the way into the lab.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story references events described in The Lost Miracle by darkrogue1. Mrs. Tanaka becomes Dr. Tanaka in my story on the theory that newspapers make mistakes all the time.

Interpreting messages from the cosmos is an enormous undertaking; so is assisting in a groundbreaking rejuvenation project. Since Hiroki Ishikawa has been burdened with both tasks, he must use all his considerable intelligence to do what he must. Step one: he simplifies his apartment. He carefully packs up all his movies, non-fiction books, music and pictures and stacks the boxes against one wall in his living room. Step two: he simplifies his diet. Hiroki purchases large quantities of protein powder, coffee, power bars, ramen and dried kelp, enough to last at least two weeks. He’ll supplement this regime with whatever he finds in the lab. Ostrovsky has unwittingly helped out here by ordering sandwiches and snacks to be delivered to the lab every day, ostensibly to keep the staff focused and alert, but more likely to keep the crew working round the clock. Step three: he simplifies his sleep pattern. Rather than waste six to eight hours sleeping every night, Hiroki makes the most of his time by buying five bottles of amphetamines from a former classmate who has dropped in status while rising in wealth. He uses the pills to stay away for all but a few hours on the weeknights, and spends the weekends in a contemplative lethargy, preparing his mind to receive messages from the universe. Alcohol seems to help this process, so Hiroki purchases a case of the cheapest, strongest sake he can find in the name of efficiency.

Unfortunately, Dr. Iskikawa is still in possession of a human body, and sometimes it betrays him. One afternoon he eats six sandwiches from the caterers and falls asleep with his head on his desk. When he wakes up he berates Dr. Tanaka for permitting him to waste half the day, but to his surprise she pushes back, insisting that he needs to rest, that his health is suffering. Ostrovsky and Nkomo back her up. 

“Don’t be angry with Dr. Tanaka, please,” Nkomo urges in his soothing, diplomatic way. “She was only thinking of you. You wouldn’t have fallen asleep like that if you weren’t desperately tired.”

“No point in burning yourself out,” Ostrovsky adds. Hiroki doesn’t like the way the Russian looks at him.

“I was looking out for you! Like he said!” Dr. Tanaka cries. She looks at Ostrovsky, who nods.

“She did the right thing. Let’s not have any more arguing. Waste of time.” 

Hiroki suppresses his anger and gets back to work. As it happens, that bit of sleep and food seems to have made his mind keener and more receptive. That afternoon he comes up with idea of having the patients take magnesium and anti-inflammatory drugs to counteract the side effects of the pods. More importantly, he breaks the code of the universal messages. He finally figures out why he has been bombarded with images of wheels, and talk of cycles, reciprocity, balance. How could he have been so stupid? Why didn’t he see it all before? Wheels within wheels! And the biggest wheel is talking to him every day.

On his way home that evening Hiroki stops at a library and stationery shop where he buys every color and size of marker he can find. Once home he can hardly wait to start his new project, but he makes a point of downing a post of coffee laced with protein powder and sugar for dinner. He changes into sweat pants and a t-shirt and gathers his supplies. With a pencil and a string he first drafts four concentric circles on the blank wall of his living room. He uses a plate to trace a full moon, and sketches a very rudimentary pointing Buddha on the other side of the wheel. No artist, he merely sketches in rough limbs and a head for Yama, the god of death. He retraces the outlines of his master wheel with a black marker. When he steps back Hiroki is pleased with the effect. The drawing takes up almost the entire wall and while crude, is undeniable. By the time Hiroki drops into his bed at 3 a.m. he has a simple sketch of each of the six realms of rebirth and the twelve links of suffering. 

At work the next morning Dr. Tanaka hesitantly mentions that he looks tired. He assures her that he’s fine; he’s simply embarked on private study of Buddhism and stayed up all night reading.

“Foolish, I know, but I got caught up in my studies and didn’t notice the time fly away. It was like being in college.”

Tanaka grins in obvious relief. She shares that she’s re-reading Japanese classics they all studied in school and is seeing them with new eyes. She has a cousin who went to a Buddhist retreat and if he likes, she’ll get the name and some information. When they head to the main lab Tanaka is more friendly and relaxed than she has been for weeks. The atmosphere in the lab is almost casual, with Ostrovsky and Nkomo already prepped and ready for the pods. They’re both hovering at around forty now. Nkomo’s implants were removed a week ago and he’s finally cutting down on his pain meds. Ostrovsky will get his out in a few days and is looking forward to it. Everyone is upbeat, including Dr. Ishikawa.

It takes the better part of the week for Hiroki to finish sketching in the details of his mural, and that’s without adding color or finishing Yuma’s features and hands. He’s read two of the shorter books, but has since abandoned the idea of learning through the works of men. What point is there in books when he universe is talking to him directly? Sensing that something big is coming up, Hiroki takes better care of his physical shell. He takes a lunch hour to get his hair cut and adds two boiled eggs and a bowl of vegetables to his daily regime. He makes a point of showering and shaving every day and greets everyone at the lab pleasantly. As one who has been chosen, he has a duty to be kind and gentle with unenlightened folk, and to his satisfaction, they all respond as they should.

At 10 p.m. on Sunday, January 15, Hiroki finishes his mural. Working on it has brought him tremendous clarity and insight. It’s not that the Tibetans had the final answer, of course, but they captured the gist of the eternal, and for a people who have not, unlike himself, communicated directly with the Great Oneness, that’s pretty good. Using his temporal form to create this artwork has further opened his mind as to why he has been put on earth and what he must do next. When he looks at his wall wheel Hiroki feels connected to something greater than himself. He feels strong, and powerful, and absolutely right with the world and beyond the world. He smiles. There is one final, whimsical touch in the piece that particularly pleases him: instead of drawing features on Yama, the God of Death, he has glued a picture of his own face in the appropriate place. It looks fine.

***

On the way to work on Monday morning Hiroki has a spring in his step. A total stranger runs up to him and claps him on the back. “Ready for tomorrow?” Seeing Hiroki’s confusion that man apologizes and mutters something unintelligible. It’s obviously an omen. Another comes when he gets to the lab. One of the monitoring reports shows an anomaly. It’s probably nothing, but even a minor mechanical problem could seriously hurt a patient. They can’t go ahead with treatments until they have three perfect tests in a row, and that could mean a delay of a full day or longer. 

In the mild confusion over scheduling Hiroki steps up and takes charge. He offers to take a night shift to make up the treatment to the patients if the calibrations are successful. Why not? They are on a mission and the lab is as secure at night as it is in the day. Ostrovsky and Nkomo are philosophical. They submit to their exams and take advantage of the delay to take care of whatever business takes up their down time. Both agree to check back in the early afternoon to see if they need to begin fasting. Pod sessions are slightly more comfortable on an empty stomach.

Dr. Tanaka is pleased to run the calibrations to give Hiroki a chance to rest up for the evening. While she’s busy, Hiroki takes a little field trip to the hospital’s basement. The universe has, naturally, arranged for him to find exactly what he needs: crowbar, mallet, an oversized wrench, and some bolt cutters. He stuffs everything into a gym bag and hefts it back to the lab. Nobody tries to stop or even question him. Indeed, everyone is so busy that his absence has barely registered. Even the security guard merely nods at him as he passes the lab checkpoint.

Hiroki stows the gym bag under his desk right under the nose of one of the younger technicians – Mr. Ito – who is respectfully waiting with a report in hand. It looks like the problem was with the monitors rather than the delicate lab equipment, but of course they’ll do the required three tests anyway. 

Dr. Ishikawa takes his time getting to the central lab. First he checks the drug inventory: well-stocked and no new deliveries expected until Friday. Then he reads the patient reports. Nkomo is doing very well indeed and has started working out almost daily. Ostrovsky had a hard time with the implant removal but he’s doing well now. This will be their last rejuvenation session, with or without intervention. Hiroki phones the custodial department and requests their schedule. They promise to be in and out before midnight. Excellent. Dr. Tanaka also has good news, which he fully expected. The second run-though went perfectly and she has every expectation of the third doing so.

“Thank, you, Dr.Tanaka. I think we can contact the patients, don’t you? Ito, Takahashi, Matsumura, I want you to stay until eight. I can manage the overnight on my own.”

Of course the three interns hasten to agree. He chose them because they’re all single and devoted to work. What else are they going to do? Dr. Tanaka is rather insistent that she will stay for the overnight as well. He’ll deal with her later.

Given the go-ahead, everyone scrambles to prepare the lab.

“Matsumura, I think it would be only fair to arrange dinner for the team. I’ll make some calls.”Matsumura won’t hear of it! He insists on taking on the task himself. Dr. Ishikawa is needed in the lab. Dr. Ishikawa is too important to waste his time on little chores. Hiroki notes the response and silently thanks the universe. Ever since he was granted special status people have been responding to his confidence. It’s so easy to win people over: a little praise, a little reward, and a firm way of speaking. How wonderful to have gifts fall into his lap just as he needs them.

Nkomo and Ostrovsky show up together shortly after 4 p.m. From the chatter he gathers that Nkomo has been teaching the Russian backgammon, soundly beating him three times in the process. Ostrovsky promises to return the favor at chess. Both men look amazing. Nkomo is now 185 centimeters tall and has to duck under older doorways. He’s still thin, but in a wiry way, with long, flexible limbs and a bouncy kind of grace. Ostrovsky is a bit shorter and more heavily muscled, but his movements are swift and precise and his blue eyes are bright and piercing. Hiroki used to envy such men but now he feels only a benevolent sort of pity. He’s glad they’ve had some time to enjoy their healthy new bodies. He hopes that cynical Mr. Ostrovsky has had a little fun. He hopes that serious Mr. Nkomo has taken advantage of the admiring glances he now attracts.

While Takahashi initiates the pod sterilization protocol, Ito attends to the meds delivery. Stage two treatments are easier, but there are still fifteen different drugs that must be administered in a precise quantity in a precise order and all must be loaded ahead of time. Nkomo is first out of the showers and into the pod. Hiroki remembers practically lifting him onto the platform for the first treatments. Matsumura installs the IV lines and breathing tubes. He seals Nkomo’s mouth with a semi-permeable tape and attaches electrodes to his chest, arms, and legs with more of the same tape. After one last check of the lines he squeezes Nkomo’s hand. Nkomo squeezes back. Matsumura closes the pod and locks the seals. Takashi sends a wave of mild disinfectant through the pod as Ito releases the sedative. Tanaka stands beside Ishikawa as the disinfectant is washed away and the pod fills with the rejuvenation medium. It’s a lovely aquamarine color but it has the unfortunate effect of making the human body look very strange and sickly. 

Ostrovsky joins them, damp and wearing only a light robe. He smiles grimly at the sight of Nkomo in the pod. 

“Believe me, it’s just as much fun as it looks,” he says.

“But worth it, Mr. Ostrovsky!” Dr. Tanaka replies. “Besides, this is the last time you will have to endure such a thing. In a few days you’ll be recovering at home!”

Ostrovsky bows. “Thank you for the reminder, doctor. It will give me strength in my hour of need.”

Ostrovsky removes his robe and steps into his own pod. Unlike Nkomo, he is always tense for this part of the procedure. Matsumura is extra-careful and reassuring as he completes the patient prep. He gives the Russian a little pat on the shoulder before he seals the pod. “Slow, deep breaths, Mr. Ostrovsky.”

Hiroki watches as the tank slowly fills and Ostrovsky is covered. Unconscious and submerged, the men look very vulnerable. Hiroki feels a curious tenderness towards them. Their lives have been put in his hands and he will deal with them as the universe wishes, but they are also at fault. They wanted to jump off the great wheel and that cannot stand. Still, there’s no point in being mean about it.

“Ito?”

“Nominal, Dr. Ishikawa.”

“Same for mechanical,” Takahashi reports.

“Vital signs perfect,” adds Matsumura.

“Good job, team. I think this may be the smoothest procedure yet, in spite of this morning’s complication.”

Hiroki isn’t just throwing the team a bone. They are very, very good at their jobs. This procedure is textbook perfect. If only things could be different, but the universe doesn’t care about the talents and dreams of individuals, alas.

****

The bulk of the procedure is on autopilot from this point on. The pods are monitored carefully, of course, but there’s time for each member of the team to take a break and have dinner. By nine p.m. the patients are in passive absorption mode, so Dr. Ishikawa sends the team home with a celebratory bottle of sake. Dr. Tanaka insists on staying on and Hiroki doesn’t bother putting up a fight. Instead he brews coffee and serves her himself. They chat about what they’ve been reading until the coffee takes hold and Dr. Tanaka slumps over in her chair. Hiroki picks her up and sets her on a cot in the recovery room. He removes her shoes and covers her with a blanket.

The temptation to grab the mallet and just start smashing is very strong, but Ishikawa forces himself to be patient. He can’t cut power or phone lines without attracting attention, and too much noise would surely alert the guards. Instead, he starts by emptying the files, shredding all the notes and reports and stacking them into a soft pyre. He finds a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a lighter and sets them where they’ll be handy for the very last task.

He takes a crowbar to most crucial casings, gradually unmasking the wires and circuit boards, the delivery systems and triggers. Around two a.m. he realizes that the patients have been enduring the serum infusions all this time. He laughs to himself. They’ve had the equivalent of three, maybe four treatments at once. Ah, well. What does it matter now if the men are a little overcooked? Bringing them out of suspension now would be cruel.

Two hours later Dr. Ishikawa can barely move his hands. He’s sweating, breathing hard, and bruised, but all the crucial pieces of the big machine have been laid bare. Crowbar in hand, he checks one last time for anything he’s missed. He won’t have much time for the final destruction phase and he’ll need to be completely prepared. 

So absorbed is he in his work that he doesn’t notice Dr. Tanaka walk into the lab in her stocking feet.

“Dr. Ishikawa! What’s happened? Are you all right?”

He looks at her stupidly. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Dr. Tanaka runs toward the pod control panel and without thinking, Hiroki swings the crowbar at her, striking the back of her head full force. She hits the floor as if she’s been dropped.

Hiroki stares at his colleague for some time before setting the bloody crowbar on a table and turning her over. Her eyes are open and fixed. No pulse. No breathing. No direction from the universe on what to do. After some thought, he pulls her body away from the controls and folds her arms over her chest. He thinks of closing her eyes but instead covers her with Ostrovsky’s robe. He pours himself a large glass of water and sits down.

In a way, nothing has changed. He still has his task and Dr. Tanaka was in the way. Still, he feels cold and alone. Is he being punished? No, that’s impossible. He will no doubt understand better when it’s all over. Hiroki gets to work with his bolt cutters and wrench. He pulls and cuts and smashes until most pod support system is damaged beyond recognition. As he turns to work on the pods themselves, he feels his stomach lurch. His empty water glass is vibrating on the table and, yes! The pods themselves are swaying slightly. 

Hiroki’s face lights up with joy. He was right! The universe was testing him with Tanaka and he has passed that test. The pods start rocking harder, knocking against the wall. The patients inside hit the thick acrylic walls of the pods; their limbs flail pathetically. The sight transfixes Hiroki. It isn’t until he notices alarms and the sound of panicked voices in the hallway that he realizes that he has, in fact, run out of time. He needs to set the papers on fire before he can leave, and before leaving becomes impossible. 

The universe has other plans. Before Dr. Ishikawa can finish the job, the Great Hanshin Earthquake of 1995 knocks Ostrovsky’s pod right on his head, and then all hell breaks loose.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Ishikawa leaves the scene, and our "hero" arrives.

His first thought is that it’s a good thing this is his last time in the pod because this session has been brutal. The second is that something is very, very wrong. Ivan Ostrovsky removes his breathing tubes. The intravenous catheters and some of the electrodes are already off. So is the door to the pod. He can see... daylight? What in hell has happened this time?

Ostrovsky has come to in horrible situations enough times to have rules for it. Rule one is to find out where you are before moving. You never know if you’re underground, or on the side of a cliff, or strapped to a table in some torture chamber or another. In this case he’s in the Sato pod, in what was the lab. There’s wreckage everywhere. Nothing but a bomb or a severe earthquake could do so much damage. The floor is no doubt covered with glass and rebar and everything else that can hurt a body.

Rule two is to check for injuries and limitations. He’s a bit battered but has no broken bones or severe cuts. Good. He’s naked, shoeless, weak, and horribly sore. Bad. 

Rule three is to go slow. Very carefully, Ostrovsky sits up a little and removes the remaining electrodes and a few stray pieces of that weird tape they use in the lab. He looks over the edge of the pod. There’s a kind of floor down there, but it’s covered in wreckage. The pod seems to have landed on something because it rocks a bit with every movement. Inch by inch, Ostrovsky extricates himself from the pod and finds his footing on a man’s leg. Good Christ. 

Rule four is to pick up anything that might be useful. That is a good rule in the event he actually finds something useful, but right now all he sees is ruined equipment and pieces of building. The only reason he can see that is because part of the wall has collapsed entirely, letting in daylight. There’s no power, no means of communication.

“Tasukete! Tasukete!”

Nobody answers. More alarmingly, the voice that came out of his mouth is wrong. He looks down at himself and sees a young male body covered in plaster dust. Maybe too young. Great. Now finding a mirror has become a priority, right after saving his skin. 

The question is whether to stay put and wait for help or try to escape. There haven’t been any aftershocks so far, but the lab is far from stable. Ostrovsky inches away from the broken wall. He sees a small woman’s hand poking out from under what’s left of a table. Dr. Tanaka. Ice cold. It seems as if the pods came loose and rolled through the lab destroying everything in their path. Nkomo is still in his pod, young, beautiful, and lifeless. What about the other lab techs? No, he will not deal with that now. 

How am I still alive? Ostrovsky wonders. He doesn’t have time to review his lifetime of close calls, but the knowledge that he’s been through worse gives him heart.

For some reason there’s a 24-inch pipe wrench on the floor beside Nkomo’s pod. It’s the first potentially useful thing Ostrovsky’s seen, so he takes it. Staying put would probably be smarter, but there’s no way in hell he’s remaining in this tomb, so he picks his way through the rubble. One of the empty pods is blocking the door. Ostrovsky leans over the tube to open the door and climbs to the other side. The inner rooms are much less damaged. He picks up a phone receiver to dead air. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. As he progresses Ostrovsky picks up two lab coats and a suit jacket. Nobody was considerate enough to leave behind anything like trousers. Ito’s lab coat fits perfectly, maybe even a bit loosely. Hell and damnation. What have they done to him? 

A fluorescent bulb crashing to the floor brings him back to the present. Ostrovsky puts on the jacket and tears the second lab coat into long strips that he uses to wrap his feet. Luckily for him the lab was designed to keep people out, not in. The main and most secure door is open a few inches. Power surge? He uses the pipe wrench to pry a few more more inches, until he can squeeze through. It’s exhausting. 

The hallway is utterly dark, but at least there are no huge pieces of furniture lying broken in his path. Ostrovsky makes his way by feel, trying each door until he comes to one that opens. It leads to a narrow stairwell lit only by slits of window at each landing. He takes a step, then another, then another, his legs shaking the whole way. It takes forever. After the fourth flight of stairs Ostrovsky stop dead. A crash. He leans against the wall, braced for aftershocks. Instead he hears more crashing and human voices. 

There’s a fifth rule to getting out of horrible situations and that is when everything seems to be going your way, look out. Ostrovsky once knew an incredibly skillful helicopter pilot who managed a tough landing in a ravine during a windstorm. He left the helicopter and was killed instantly when a slowly turning propeller blade cracked him on the head. Keeping this in mind Ostrovsky slowly makes his way to the next landing and opens the door an inch. The movement causes something inside the hall to crash, and attracts whoever is in the hall. It occurs to him that the people most likely to be patrolling the hall of a ruined hospital are rescue workers, not looters. Ostrovsky opens the door a little further, pushing the broken exit sign away. He pokes his head around the corner to see four men carrying flashlights. 

“Tasukete! Help? Tasukete! Please be here to help.”

As the men approach, Ostrovsky can see that they are wearing white helmets and orange jump suits. The men confer in rapid Japanese. Ostrovsky can make out the words for foreigner, boy, and patient. One of the men grasps his arm.

“American?” 

Ostrovsky nods. It’s the easiest answer.

“I am helping you now. Come, please. Careful.” The remaining three men wave them off and proceed down the hall.

Ostrovsky allows the rescue worker to lead him outside into the light, to the sight of dust and rubble and the sounds of mourning and sirens. The Great Hanshin Earthquake kills more than 6,000 people and damages 400,000 buildings, but Ostrovsky doesn’t find that out until much later. The rescue worker takes him to a makeshift triage station, where he waits and thinks. Eventually a middle-aged woman in a blue nurse’s uniform comes to take his vitals. She handles his limbs and shines a penlight into his eyes. An unseen person drapes a blanket over his shoulders and the nurse snaps off a few instructions. Ostrovsky’s Japanese is only intermediate, but she’s clearly stating his triage status. I’m fine, he thinks. I’m in shock and everything is wrong, and I feel like grim death, and yet I’m fine.

The nurse brushes plaster dust from his matted hair and strokes his face very gently. He feels her bare hand on his hairless cheek. She gestures for him to wait, as if he has anything else to do. He waits, and considers the possibilities. Someone brings him bottled water. Someone comes and asks for his age, name, and address in Japanese. Ostrovsky says nothing. He hasn’t figured out what the answers to those questions are just yet, and there’s no need for anyone to know how fluent he is in Japanese. He retains the right to remain silent. A tendency to leap without looking has got him into trouble dozens of times over the last 75 years. He’s going to try patience, at least until he gets really bored. Besides, where is he going to go in this state?

Eventually the kind nurse comes back with a man in street clothes. He introduces himself as Yosuke Horiguchi, high school English teacher. 

“What is your name, young man?”

“Erik. I need to call someone please.”

“Erik. I can help you, Erik. Tell me the name.” Mr. Horiguchi hands over a small notepad and a pencil.

Ostrovsky writes down the name and number of a Kobe law form catering to English and French speakers. It’s the same firm that’s cooperated with his London lawyers for the past twenty-five years.

“They know my father.”

He writes down “Erik Ostrovsky: Ivan’s son.”“That’s me. They will know me.”

“All right, Erik. Stay here. I will find a way to call.”

The young man nods and goes quiet again. Decades ago he fell from the sky not far from here.* He put his life in the hands of lawyers then and it worked out better than he had expected. In some ways he has advantages this time: he isn’t hurt, nobody is looking for him, he has systems in place. Above all, he has plenty of time, maybe more than he’d ever bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See "Out of Hell" another one of my wishful thinking pieces.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero finds that nobody takes him seriously.

The aftermath of the Great Hanshin Earthquake is chaotic. Thousands lose power, water, homes. More than three hundred children lose a parent; sixty-eight are orphaned. The mourning and rebuilding is prolonged and intense and changes the way Japan approaches disaster preparedness. This is why the story of one foreigner climbing out of the rubble doesn’t go anywhere. Only a few people talk to the Ostrovsky boy. Only the kind nurse sees him leave.

It’s funny, if you’re in the mood to laugh. The last time he was rescued by a lawyer the cavalry arrived by town car wearing business suits. This time it’s a black motorcycle with a purple sidecar. The bike rolls by slowly, turns, and parks beside the curb where the boy sits, sipping water and munching on a stale granola bar. The rider takes off her helmet and squats down in front of him.

“Mr. Ostrovsky?”He nods. The woman asks the nurse a few questions about his health and then, satisfied, helps him to his feet. With the help of Kind Nurse he climbs into a sleeping bag and positions himself in the sidecar. The strange woman fastens the seatbelt and straps a helmet to his head. In a moment they’re off, wending their way slowly through the rubble and traffic.

***

The sun is setting when they arrive at their destination. It’s a stately, old-fashioned house with a walled formal garden. Ostrovsky has to lean on the driver to make it up the path. A middle-aged man bustles out of the house to help them inside. 

“Good god, did you take him straight from the quake zone? What one earth is he wearing?” The man speaks perfect, Oxford-accented English.

The woman shrugs, and responds in Japanese. There’s something off about her accent, but she’s perfectly intelligible. Yes, she took him from the quake zone, the better to get him under a doctor’s care. That was her assignment. Was she supposed to wait until dark? They argue as they maneuver him into the house and it’s damned annoying.

“How about a few introductions and less pointless bickering,” Ostrovsky interrupts. The habit of command hasn’t left him, even in this ridiculous condition. Both of his helpers shut up instantly. The woman raises one well-groomed eyebrow and shrugs.

“So sorry, young man. I’m Doctor Hachiro Mitsumoto. This is Miss Soo-jin Lee. We were contacted by the lawyer, Mr. Kobayashi, to take care of you. This is my home. It was thought that you’d be better off in private quarters, away from the madness in Kobe.”

“They don’t need another person to take care of over there,” Miss Lee adds. She speaks English as well, but the Korean comes through quite a bit. “Okay if I stay here too? Just for the night.”

“Of course,” the doctor answers. “Help me get him into the bathroom.”

“I can walk myself! I walked out of the damned hospital!” To his intense annoyance, his voice cracks slightly. He stands up very straight and makes his own way down the hall, ignoring waves of pain and dizziness.

They finally allow Erik to wash off the layers of dirt and plaster dust on his own on the condition that he leaves the door open. Ten minutes of sluicing, twenty to soak, another ten to sluice again. Dr. Mitsumoto brings in a pair of sweat pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. 

“Take your time. When you’re done come to the kitchen, please. I want to take a look at you, although Miss Lee assures me that you’ve had some medical attention already.”

Erik nods and looks at the doctor until the latter gets the hint and leaves. Finally, a room with a mirror in it! He takes a good look and, well, it’s worse than he had imagined. The person he sees is post-pubescent, but not by much. He’s so skinny! The nose is so big in the face. He looks closely and notes a dusting of black peach fuzz on his upper lip. How on earth did they overshoot by so much? What in hell is he going to do? 

He dresses quickly to ward off the chill. It’s like when he swapped bodies with Phillip Mortimer all those years ago. You can’t think about it too closely or you’ll go crazy, he tells himself. Just roll with it. Do what you can right now. Get some food, get some sleep, get your damned lawyer in here and make a plan.

It’s clear that neither Dr. Mitsumoto nor Miss Lee knows who he really is or why he was in Kobe in the first place. The doctor gives him a quick check and diagnoses him with dehydration, exhaustion, and stress, all perfectly normal given the circumstances. The doctor’s wife shows up with a bag of groceries and eventually he’s handed a bowl of salty soup, then some fish and rice with vegetables. He eats it all and drinks two big glasses of water. He’d rather have beer like the more obvious adults in the room, but this will do for now. 

Satomi Mitsumoto is nonplussed at having guests. She merely remarks that it’s a good thing she brought plenty for everyone and talks about her favorite Korean movies with Soo-jin. Erik has trouble following the conversation, and then he realizes he’s having trouble following the conversation. Collapse is imminent and he refuses to be carried or dragged anywhere.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” he says firmly.

Mrs. Mitsumoto shows him his room. Her sons are in college now, so their rooms are available for guests and visits, she explains. It’s empty except for a dresser, end table, and a narrow bed. Fine. It’s all fine. He falls asleep in his clothes almost instantly. When he wakes screaming five hours later someone is there with a hypodermic. He doesn’t wake again until the weak January sun is full in his face.

***

The first sensation that hits Ostrovsky on the morning of January 18 is an overwhelming sense of his new reality. He flexes his aching limbs. Despite the pain he feels somehow light and flexible, as if every joint in his body has been oiled. He stands and is struck by how close the ground is. Even at seventy-five he was 178 centimeters tall. Now he’s maybe 166 at most. On the up side, his senses are remarkably keen. Colors seem brighter, sounds sharper and more distinct. He can tell by smell that the room has been recently painted.

Erik realizes he has no personal possessions on him at all. He opens the closet door hoping to find an old robe or slippers. It’s crammed full with boxes, school prizes, pictures, musical instruments, and sports equipment. If there are any clothes they’ve been carefully packed away. Damn. In the bathroom he tries to flatten his hair down and notices a tiny pimple on the crease of his nose. He stares at his own reflection in utter disbelief for a moment. The face is unlined and thin but somehow softer, and overwhelmed by a nose and eyebrows he has yet to grow into. He pegs his age at fourteen, maybe fifteen, but certain no older. Too young to drink, drive, or sign a contract; too young to be fully accountable; too young to be questioned by cops without a parent or guardian present. Interesting.

He washes up and and heads downstairs to the kitchen. Soo-jin is the only one there. She’s filling a thermos with coffee.

“Sorry, kid, this is the last of the pot. I can put on some more if you like, or maybe you should have tea instead. Don’t want to stunt your growth”

Ostrovsky grimaces. He’s going to have to get used to people talking to him like this. Dammit. 

“Where are Dr. and Mrs. Mitsumoto?”

“The doctor is in the shower. Satomi is in her studio working. I’m going to say goodbye before I go. Oh, and I’ve talked to the office. Mr. Kobayashi will be here this afternoon. He’s says to tell you he’s glad you’re all right and could you please jot down your priorities, whatever that means.” Ms. Lee rolls her eyes. “Hey, we should ask him for clothes. Do you know your sizes in Japanese clothes?

Erik doesn’t know his size in any clothes. Even his feet seem smaller. “No, I don’t. Maybe I can borrow for now.”

Ms. Lee gives him a sympathetic look. “I have an idea.” She stands beside him and sweeps her hand from the top of her head to his. Using her own body as a guide she determines that he is two finger-widths taller than she is, and a hand-span wider at the shoulders. His big toe begins where hers ends. Noting his bare feet, Soo-jin hands him a pair of guest slippers from the foyer. She makes a few notes and tucks her pad and thermos into a black leather backpack. 

“I’ll see you soon, young Mr. Ostrovsky. Take care of herself.”

With that she’s off, and Erik is left alone in the kitchen. He finds a kettle and teapot quite easily and fixes a pot of green tea. Dr. Mitsumoto comes down the stairs in a dress shirt and pants with damp hair. 

“How are you this morning?”

“Fine. Was that you who shot me up with sedatives last night?”

The doctor is a little taken aback. “It was necessary. It’s very important to rest after a trauma like that.”

The boy shrugs. “I suppose so. I don’t like being ambushed, though.”

“As your doctor I’m responsible for you. I would not do any harm under an circumstances.”

“Yes, but I’ve been mostly on my own for a while. If you could treat me as an adult until you don’t have to I’d appreciate it.” That was the right note. Mitsumoto nods thoughtfully. 

“I understand. How do you feel?” 

“Sore all over. Extremely hungry.”

“Sit and drink your tea. I’ll make you a good breakfast.”

The doctor heats up some leftover rice and beats it well with a raw egg and furikake. While the boy devours his first course, Mitsumoto grills a small piece of salmon. The boy eats it with some reheated greens. 

“Where are we? Besides your house, I mean.” 

“The doctor stares at him for a moment. “Otsu. We’re very close to Lake Biwa. Good heavens, did they not even tell you where you were going?” 

“Ms. Lee isn’t much of a talker. I wasn’t in the mood either. Sorry I was so impatient last night.” 

“Quite understandable. Ms. Lee is a formidable character. She’s already become fast friends with my wife. I wouldn’t be surprised if she leaves here with one of Satomi’s paintings.

“Otsu. I’ve heard of it. There are some nice places for hiking around here, aren’t there?” 

“Oh, yes. If you stay long enough, I will show you some. Or my oldest boy will take you if he comes for a visit.”

To his surprise, Erik is still a bit hungry. He doesn't remember being ravenous the first time he was this age, but perhaps he was too busy to think back then. The doctor makes toast and jam and urges him to take a multivitamin. As the young man munches intently, Mitsumoto talks about his sons. The oldest is in medical school and is doing very well. The youngest is only eighteen and started university a few months ago. He’s also doing well, but he’s like his mother. Dr. Mitsumoto suspects he will make some unusual choices in life.

Erik has reasons for being genuinely interested and asks a lot of questions about the boys. Nothing could loosen the doctor’s tongue more. As he talks, the typical modesty of a Japanese parent evaporates and it’s clear he is extremely proud of his children. Erik gets the impression that the eldest, Kenji, is a caretaker, while Daisuke is a charmer. They’re devoted to each other, though. While in high school Daisuke was in every musical club offered. Kenji played soccer and baseball.

It takes some time for Erik to convince the doctor to talk about the earthquake. The news is shocking: thousands dead, an untold number of buildings destroyed. There’s no specific word on the hospital, yet, of course. The earthquake has disrupted all the normal systems, including communications. Erik’s memories of his escape are perfectly vivid. He knows that there was something more than an earthquake going on in that lab. The equipment was dismantled as well as crushed. Why was there a pipe wrench on the floor? Why did he wake up in the tube if the quake didn’t happen until nearly 6 a.m.? Why was the lab full of staff so early in the morning? He doesn’t share any of this with the doctor.

***

The doctor and his wife both work from home, so they go on with their normal business, stopping only to check in on him no more than once an hour. Except for visiting Satomi in her studio and sharing a curry lunch with the couple, Erik spends most of his time making notes and reading. He organizes his thoughts under the following categories: Immediate needs; Legal; Habitat; Long-term. The last category is full of question marks.

It’s mid-afternoon before Koji Kobayashi shows up carrying a briefcase and a suitcase. He looks exhausted. Although he was not directed affected by the quake, he has been extremely busy trying to reunite families and secure property. Two good friends have not yet been heard from. Nevertheless, he has a duty to Mr. Ostrovsky, and that duty comes first. That his client is completely unrecognizable is a minor side issue.

“I thought Ms. Lee was joking, to be honest. Nonetheless, I have brought you clothes. They may be too big, but you are… growing.”

“I’m still me, Mr. Kobayashi.”

“Yes, of course. The question is whether you will continue to operate as… you.” The lawyer shakes his head in comical bewilderment. 

“I’m leaning to no way in hell, but a final decision can wait until I get back to New York. Unfortunately, I have no identification of any kind.” 

“It will take time to arrange it, perhaps quite a bit of time with the country in chaos. I wouldn’t recommend traveling now anyway.”

With a legal pad apiece Kobayashi and his client sit down to figure out an immediate plan. The lawyer will arrange an emergency passport for “Ivan Erik Ostrovsky” but arrange travel under an alias with appropriate papers. Kobayashi will also contact Ostrovsky’s American law firm to ensure that Redwing’s succession plan is being followed.

“Let them know that Ivan Ostrovsky is missing, but that doesn’t mean dead. In any case, there’s an heir waiting. They need to know that an Ostrovsky is in charge either way,” the boy instructs. “Speak to Andre Torres as well. He’s just an associate and doesn’t have much to do with the business but he’s my man on the Sato project. Have him arrange a birth certificate for me just in case, a paper trail. That will probably take forever too.” 

The boy thinks a moment.

“How old do I look to you?” 

The lawyer hesitates. “Fourteen or fifteen years. You don’t remember?” 

“Not a lot, but I think you’re right.” The boy writes down a date. “He should use this.” 

“Any particular reason?” 

“It puts my age at almost fifteen, and it’s Houdini’s birthday. I’ve used it before.” 

“Very appropriate!”

Dr. Mitsumoto pokes his head into the kitchen. He doesn’t want to interrupt.

“We’re done, doctor! It’s all right.”

Mitsumoto invites the lawyer to stay the night, but Kobayashi wants to get home and back to work. There are other people who need his help. He discreetly hands Mitsumoto an envelope stuffed with cash, half for Erik’s immediate needs and half for the use of the home.

“Thank you for taking in our young charge, doctor. We’re very grateful to you.” 

“My wife and I are happy to help. We hosted exchange students often when our boys were in school. This is the same. Erik is no trouble at all.” 

“Erik is very mature for his age,” the lawyer says, gravely. He winks at the boy. “I’ll be in touch very soon. Be good.” 

“You too, Mr. Kobayashi.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of dark things can be covered by attorney-client privilege.

It takes nearly two full months for Kobayashi to work out the details. He researches emergency passports and replacement documentation and decides to go with straight-up forgery. Of course, there are layers of plausible deniability between the law firm, the criminal organization that ends up with most of the money, and the artist who creates the documents. On March 14 he visits Otsu with a package of very convincing documents, including a passport in the name of Michael James Thompson. The travel stamp shows that young Michael arrived in Japan on January 10. There are other papers showing that he was part of a student exchange organized by an American service club. 

“This is very professional, Mr. Kobayashi, very nice. Social Security card, birth certificate… the school I.D. looks like it’s been in a wallet for months. Is this a real school?” 

“Indeed it is. Every detail has been researched and confirmed. This is an ultra-premium set of documents. It’s almost a shame you’ll only use it once.” 

“It is, but I plan to stay within the letter of the law as much as I can.” 

“Ah, but you’re an innocent child being smuggled out of the country. No legal liability falls on your shoulders,” the lawyer chuckles. Arranging Ostrovsky’s little matter has been a welcome and enjoyable distraction from the work he’s been doing on behalf of earthquake victims. Indeed, young Erik’s money will compensate for many desperate pro bono clients.

“What about my American I.D.?” 

“Mr. Torres is setting that up. There are backdated papers that you’ll have to sign as Ivan, but he believes he can get you an absolutely genuine New York birth certificate. From that point, everything should be easy, at least for the heir to the Redwing Corporation.”

The young man nods absently. He’s looking at his ticket and itinerary. 

“I leave in four days.” 

“Yes. Mrs. Mitsumoto will take you to Narita. Mr. Torres will meet you in Los Angeles and accompany you back to New York. I assumed you’d want to go as soon as possible.” 

“Oh, of course.”

“You still have a little time to enjoy the attractions of Otsu.” Kobayashi says sarcastically. He’s a city man to the core. 

“Right. But it hasn’t been all bad, you know. The Mitsumotos have made everything easy.” 

“They are fine people, very open and accepting. They hosted the son of one of my British colleagues several years ago. Would you like me to arrange a gift for them?” 

“Yes, please do. And I’ll send something from the states when I get home.” 

“You don’t seem very happy about this. Is everything all right?” 

“It doesn’t matter. It’s been interesting, that’s all. I’ve learned a lot.”

The lawyer is skeptical about the educational value of this backwater, but he defers to his client. “All the better, then. One is never too old to learn.” 

*** 

The documents are accepted without question. In fact, the most eventful aspect of leaving Japan is saying goodbye to the Mitsumotos. They insist on loading him up with food in case nothing on the plane is edible (he’s flying first class). They give him early “birthday” gifts: a leather-bound journal, a Japanese picture dictionary, and a soft grey bamboo yarn scarf made by Satomi herself. Erik gives them his address in New York. It’s actually the address of his New York law firm, Sullivan and Cromwell. Ivan Ostrovsky has a majestic penthouse apartment in his company’s building, but Erik’s future address has yet to be determined.

Andre Torres, a promising young associate with that very law firm meets his client at the Beverley Wilshire. He’s booked two adjacent rooms under his own name so the boy never has to register or use a credit card or even give his name. The young lawyer doesn’t bother to hide his reaction when he opens the door for his client. 

“Holy Mary, mother of God.”“I know, Mr. Torres, I know.” 

The lawyer takes the boy next door and hands over the key card. “Don’t lose this.” 

“I won’t. Geez!” The boy’s tone is so bratty that Torres burst out laughing. He takes his client by the shoulders and stares him in the face.

“Andre. Come on.” 

“It’s astounding. You look like your own grandson.” 

“Maybe great-grandson. It’s madness, I know. I didn’t plan this. The Sato lab fucked me over, but at least I lived through it.” 

The lawyer laughs again. “I’m sorry. Just hearing you talk like yourself with that face; it’s going to take some getting used to.” 

Erik shakes his head in disgust. “You should have heard me when I first came out of the tube; like a little boy.” He shucks off his jacket and sweater and rubs his eyes. “It seems I’m a relatively late bloomer, as absurd as that sounds. I wasn’t keeping track of things the first time around, but looking back I realize that I had a major growth spurt at around sixteen. The facial hair didn’t really get going until much later and it came in with a vengeance.” 

Torres thinks about it a moment. “This is going to be tough for you for a while, but at least you know what to expect. And you have resources most people would envy.” 

“Yourself, for example?" 

“Frankly, yes. This room is bigger than the apartment I grew up in. You have serious money. You have skills, experience, maybe even a little wisdom. You’re free. Hell, I’d go through the crappiest teen years again to have your chances.”

“Hmm. Is the company managing without me?” 

“Exactly according to the succession plan. It will be waiting for you when you’re ready.”

“We’ll talk about that later, Andre. I’ll want your advice on a number of issues. There is a lot to deal with and I am resigned to the fact that nothing will go as quickly as I wish.” 

“No, it will not. Listen, you’re all jet-lagged and sticky. Why don’t you change and put away your things? Have a swim or something. I have a stack of papers for you to look through and I’ll need directions on what kind of lifestyle you want to adapt. We can arrange almost anything for you, but I need you to at least sketch out what you want.”

***

They spend two days at the Wilshire working out the basics while Erik gets used to Pacific Time. The story is that Ivan Erik Ostrovsky is old Ivan’s son who’s been tucked away in foster homes and boarding schools under false names all these years. The mother is unnamed and implied to be deceased. Erik writes several letters on old paper as evidence. They create an updated but backdated will leaving Erik everything when he turns twenty-five. The boy had initially wanted this to be eighteen or twenty-one at the most, but Andre pointed out how this would spook the market. Redwing is a very prosperous company, but not a particularly large or complicated one. It will continue generating money without interference for at least ten years. Even if it went bankrupt tomorrow, Erik has a trust fund that would set anyone up for life.

Young Erik Ostrovsky has no known living relatives. Andre, who grew up as one of three children with a neighborhood full of aunties, uncles, and cousins, is very concerned about this. He paints a dire picture of Erik “growing up” as prey to gold diggers, con men, paparazzi and gossip columnists. 

“It’s not like you can live on the top floor of the Plaza with a nanny like Eloise,” he fulminates. “I can’t promise you an Alfred to make sure nothing bad happens to you.” Both of these references are entirely lost on Ostrovsky. Besides, he’s already decided what he wants. 

“Andre, stop fussing for five minutes and listen to me. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this and I’ve decided that I want everything. I know, just listen. I want an anonymous, relatively carefree youth – what’s left of it - with some legal adults to run interference for me, rather like what I had with the Mitsumotos’ house, but long-term. I want legal immunity, an absolutely clean slate and I want to spend a few years being a protected, privileged American kid. Nobody gets to chase me. Nobody gets to manipulate me.” 

The lawyer nods. Who wouldn’t want to be a privileged American kid?

“Do you know why I undertook this bizarre experiment in the first place?” 

“No. But a lot of people would risk death for a second youth.” 

“I wasn’t one of them. I was perfectly content to be semi-retired with my millions and my new identity when I heard that Sato was up to new tricks.” 

“Professor Mortimer. Captain Blake.” Andre has been privy to some truly ancient history. 

“Precisely. I knew they suspected that Ostrovsky was Olrik, but there wasn’t much they could do about it. I had U.S. citizenship and CIA backing and was operating within the law. All they had was suspicion and nobody cared about their old battles. Their day was past. My day was past. We were old men and our conflicts were a quaint relic of a more colorful time.Then they regenerated. They became young again. Blake was asking questions about Redwing. It was supportable!” The boy’s face twists with rage. “Besides, why should they have yet another thing that I could not? I thought I would come back at roughly the age I was when we first met and probably start fighting again. Then this happened. You see where I’m going?” 

“I do. You don’t really think they’ll come after you, do you?” 

“I’m sure they will. That’s why I need you to create layers of protection. Ivan Ostrovsky is dead. Erik Ostrovsky has never been to Japan or anywhere else. As far as the world is concerned I’m an orphan who just happens to have an army of lawyers and mercenaries at his fingertips. That’s the other aspect. There has to be security, but it should be at arms-length. I don’t want to attract attention. I suppose I’ll have to live under yet another alias.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Security is awaiting us. Here’s the thing. We can stash you in your old apartment with round-the-clock bodyguards in the spare room, or…” 

“Or?” 

“Or you can stay with us for a few days while we arrange long-term placement. We’d still have security but it would be a little more discreet.” 

“With you and, um, Mrs. Torres?” 

“Maricella Gutierrez-Torres. We’ve talked it over and we’d be happy to billet you for a while.”

Erik’s face freezes in a mixture of doubt, hope, and confusion.

“It’s fine. I can manage with bodyguards.” 

“But you’d rather not?” 

Erik says nothing.

“So I’ll ask Maricella to fix up the spare room, shall I? Now, as to your wish for anonymity and all that, it’s eminently doable. You have to decide a few things fairly quickly. Do you want to stay in New York? Up state? Somewhere else entirely? Public or private school. There are some excellent military schools if you’re leaning that way.” 

“Hmm, no. I don’t want to wear a uniform ever again, I tell you that now. I don’t know anything about American schools, to be honest. Don’t you have to apply in infancy? People are always complaining about schools in the city.”

“For the heir of Redwing? I think the partners can pull a few strings.”

“Pull away. Pull away!”

*** 

Torres accompanies his client to LAX. They’re booked on separate airlines, but will arrive at roughly the same time, then it’s off to Andre’s Brooklyn home.

“Got your boarding pass?” 

“For the third time, yes.” 

“Well, I’m responsible for you, you know.” 

“I’m capable of boarding an airplane. I could fly the damned thing if I had to.” 

“Fine, fine, you’re a big boy. I’ll meet you in the domestic arrivals lounge. If you think of anything else write it down. Drink water. Think about schools.”

“Good lord, do you ever stop? Wait. What day is it?” 

“Friday.” 

“Friday, March what?” 

“It’s the 24th. You’re all mixed up from traveling.” 

“Huh. It’s my birthday.” 

Torres stops short. “Your real birthday?” 

“Not precisely sure on that, but it’s Erik’s birthday. This is the one I picked, same as Houdini.”

The lawyer grins. “Well happy birthday to you! Have a good flight. We’ll see if we can get you a nice new life for a present.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see Andre Torres as a genuinely nice person, but not necessarily a spotlessly moral person. He could have refused to work with Olrik/Ostrovsky, but his curiosity and love of a challenge is too much for him. Also, he's making a ton of money off this client.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now we go to the other side of the Atlantic. Thanks again to darkrogue1 for creating the original scenario.

They’ve had many months to get used to it, but Professor Mortimer and Captain Blake are still daily thrilled at the sensation of being young, strong, and healthy. They appreciate it much more than they did the first time around. They also appreciate the way the world has changed. Domestic partnership and gay adoption are still years away but many men like them are living their lives openly and agitating for increased rights and recognition. Phillip is prepared to jump into this new world with both feet, but Francis is more hesitant, still a bit of an old man in a young man’s body. 

That said, they live together openly, sharing the biggest bed that will fit in their bedroom. They kiss hello when the come home from work and sometimes sit in the park arm-in-arm. Blake has even brought up the idea of surrogate parenting; not now, of course, but something to think about in the future. It’s a good life, and will get better in ways the pair can’t imagine just yet.

But even a good life has problems and one problem in particular has dogged the pair for fifty years. Since the sabotage and subsequent earthquake damage at the Sato clinic in Kobe, Blake has been untangling the mystery of exactly what happened that awful January morning. Today he has information, but he decides to hold it back until Mortimer has finished eating. No point in spoiling the poor man’s dinner.

“So what have you been dying to tell me for the last two hours, my dear?”

You know me so well, Phillip.”

Mortimer pours them each a glass of wine. Being young again means they can handle a fair amount of liquor. Having been old means they are careful not to overdo it. They usually have a glass or two each, leaving whiskey and sherry for special occasions these days.

“It’s about Ivan Ostrovsky.”

“Your suspicions have been confirmed?”

“No. He’s dead. At least, he’s been declared legally dead.”

“But you don’t believe it.”

“An heir has shown up.”

Mortimer stares at him. This is not what the expected.

“His name is Ivan ErikOstrovsky, goes by Erik. According to what I was able to dig up he was born in New York City in 1980, mother unknown.”

“Wait, that makes him fifteen. That doesn’t make sense.”

“My guess is that something went wrong with the rejuvenation process. Somehow Olrik got out of Japan and came to the U.S. without being noticed. He’s been flying very much under the radar. At any rate, this young so-called Ostrovsky is an American citizen and a minor. He won’t inherit his “father’s” infernal company until he turns 25.”

“Unbelievable. What on earth is he doing?”

“He started attending a public high school in Buffalo, New York state two months ago. He’s in the 10th grade. Americans customarily go to 12th grade and then on to university if they desire.”

“So… what are you saying? Olrik is just going to school? Why on earth would he bother?"

“For cover is my guess. Perhaps he wants formal qualifications. He could lie in wait for ten years or longer and then -”

Mortimer shakes his head. “I can’t say this is terribly convincing, my dear. Olrik would find a way to cause mayhem, even if he came back as a toddler. Has this young Ostrovsky committed any crimes? Ordered any assassinations? I just don’t see him surviving a helicopter crash and god knows what else in order to study symbolism in Julius Caesar.”

“My dear Phillip, stop joking for a moment. I have pictures.”

Blake retrieves a folder and spreads out a number of colour prints. Most of them have been have been blown up and have lost their sharpness, but one is a crystal-clear school ID photo. Mortimer flips through them with interest, especially the full-face portrait.

“I see a superficial resemblance at any rate. I’m trying to imagine him older, with shorter hair. Francis, are you really sure this is Olrik?”

“Not absolutely. Ostrovsky looked like Olrik with minor surgical adjustments, but it could be coincidence. It’s possible that there was a son and he kept the boy a secret to protect him. It’s possible the boy just happened to show up after Ostrovsky went to Japan for rejuvenation treatment. Possible. Would you want to bet on it?” 

Mortimer looks at the photos again. “It’s just so strange. When I look at this face I just don’t see Olrik. This is a child. He looks completely harmless.”

“He bears watching, Phillip.”

“You’re probably right, my dear. You usually are. So what do we do about it?”

“Watch and wait. If this is Olrik, he knows we’re here. We know he’s there. Until someone makes a move, that’s where we stand.”

“Hmph. All very well, but I’m not going to live my life in fear of some brat on the other side of the Atlantic!

“Well said, old fellow!” Blake reaches over for Phillip’s hand and draws it to his lips. “We have our own life to live.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Ostrovsky is Olrik.


End file.
